


When an age ends its relics are always left to be found

by Paragosm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd age, Graphic Wounds, Multi, OC, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paragosm/pseuds/Paragosm
Summary: PROLOGUEA wandering band of former Fëanorion loyalists was separated from the main group not long after the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. After facing years and years of  rough living in the wilds, and picking up a Sindarin ellon once upon a time from Doriath, who had barely escaped the Sundering with his life, they wander down to the sea. There, they make a shocking find; now they have to find other Eldar before it's too late.TEMPORARILY ON HIATUS.I do plan to get back to When An Age Ends, but I've lost my motivation and life isn't great rn. I also plan on posting shorter fics and drabbles, so stay tuned for those.





	1. Chapter 1

“Crabathor, what are you doing?” The ellon in questions lips quirked up every time he heard his name, for a long time he'd told them his name was Thachon Dregnirion, which the band had not understood until he explained, after they started using Westron with each other. Eventually, the former Doriathian had trusted them with his real name, Crabathor Theriedirion. “Making rope, Haldalóton.” He said to his good friend, an ellon of many words, good humor and proficency with a pike. 

He looked around at the small, hardy band of Noldor warriors. Many years ago, he had tried to kill them, feverish because of being weakened to the state of a mortal, mistaking them for a pack of Morgoth's vile orcs, which had killed the few other guards who had the so-called 'luck' of surviving the Sundering and before, not being close to Menegroth when it was sacked and the Girdle fell. They had survived by spending many years begging each of the settlements of the Secondborn they found for work and food, but had been weakened by long, hard years and the winter storms. When the fever broke and he was in his right mind, he tried to kill the group again. This time was because of the Quenya he didn't understand but knew they were speaking, their appearances of darker hair, eyes, and skin (He would remember a bit later that he had been named for one of those characteristics), and the worn seven pointed stars on their oldest clothing and equipment that marked them as Noldor, and Fëanorion loyalists. He did get half of this right, at least. 

He had had no idea how they had survived the massive cataclysm that had occurred, the same one which cost half of his group. When they finally managed to get him to calm down enough to discover that they all spoke at least some Westron due to their dealings with Men, he learned that they had been nowhere near there when it happened, having been separated from the battle group led by one of Maglor's captains after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and resulting in wandering around (Later, a drunk Narwamë said they were “Running as far away from there as we could.”) for quite some time, before coming across a little village that needed protection and were willing to let the group eat in exchange for it. They had felt tremors in the earth, but nothing more. Eventually, after training the villagers to make weapons and defend themselves with what they had, they had left. 

He was eternally grateful to them, no matter the irony of a Doriathian Sindar owing a band of Noldor his life. A few months ago, they had made a group decision to head to the sea. Crabathor loved his friends, and did not wary of the world, so had opposed it, but they said they only wanted to stock up on things they could likely find in harbor cities. They knew that all the ones they had once known were no more, but they still knew what the needed and weren't to be dissuaded. Haldalóton and Windyawen were chattering eagerly, for had been many, many years since they had seen the sea. 

They also went for another reason; for news. They had stayed hidden for a long time, hoping that when they emerged they would not be seen as cowards and deserters. But now, Lissemo had had a change of heart, and wanted to know what had happened. Sangwon and Panissë had rejected the idea themselves, but had been outvoted. They still had a bit of money, but were not going to use it, for they had many items to trade. 

And so they slept, keeping watch through the night.


	2. Chapter one: The Sea

“It is a city of the Second-born, and they speak little Westron. We shall find little news here, and no Eldar.” Nullien said, having returned from the scouting mission. Windyawen looked as if she had stars in her eyes, quickly running to her brother to tell of the city, the sea, anything. Lissemo sighed. “We did need the supplies more than the news, so we shall head to this city.” The band stood at the ready, their current mounts and the pack mule they had bought recently trying to graze from the small patches of grass. Lissemo noticed this, and shook his head. “We will leave as soon as possible. This is no place for an animal.” He said calmly

. “Narwamë, Panissë, we need two more horses, donkeys, mules, whatever you think will do. The loads we have are getting too much, and I am afraid old Ilcar is soon be useless for heavy work.” The two elleth nodded, and went to their horses, a mare named Uru and a stallion named Varya. 

At a nod from Lissemo, they relaxed. He turned to the rest of the group who waited for instruction. “Melin” he said, looking at Laiquemo “Didn't you say some of the things you need are from the sea?” The healer looked up from were he was doing a triple-check of his herb stores that were strapped to Thinda's saddle. He nodded in reply, before continuing his recount. “Then you and Nullien will go to obtain them.” The ellith who sat fixing her headscarf while on her massive stallion Hanaco dipped her head in affirmation. 

His eyes fixed on the excited Curion siblings, who had noticed his gaze and had fixed him in the wide-eyed silent pleading they thought themselves adept in. “Yes, Haldalóton, Windyawen, you are going fishing. The dry stores ran out a while ago, and you are rather good at-” his voice was cut off by the two's excited voices and Rehta's and Arossë's pounding hooves as they ran by him. He snorted. He had long learned that trying to keep them back from water was like trying to drown a fish. 

“Nixewen!” He called. She directed Elenya over to him. “Yes, Lissemo?””Do we need anything metal made?” She nodded. “Some of our armor is in bad shape, we need store of arrow heads for the tougher-skinned beasts we go after, and if we get more pack animals we'll need the trappings for them.””Then you will find the means of making or obtaining these.” Elenya snorted and stomped his foot, harness jingling. Nixewen chuckled, and went to get Fanya. “Go with her, Haldamíron.” The ellon nodded, and clicked his tongue at his mare Piucca, turning her to follow Nixewen. 

“Sangwon, I'm sorry to ask this of you, but can you go and get some sturdy fabrics? Leather boots and some reins too, if you can.” He nodded slowly. “I'm sorry, you shall be on your own. I need the others to do things.” Sangwon nodded again, before strapping saddle bags on to Bronwe's saddle and leading her in the general direction of the others, where, with the exception of Windyawen and Haldalóton, they awaited further instructions. 

Morivanyon sat watching, his eerie eyes calmly following the motions and words of the group. “Morivanyon, you need to stay with the supplies and camp.””I am of more use to you as a negotiator, Lissemo. Why would you have me stay behind?” He asked calmly. Laiquemo snorted “Because you look like a sort of undead creature, Fairë.” The former combat medic explained. “Don't we tell you this every time?””Ah, I see. Also, I do not enjoy being called Phantom.”  
Lissemo was starting to get a headache. They had not been to a populated area with more than a few hundred in numbers in quite some time, and he always hated being the one to divide every one up. He leveled a pleading gaze at the ethereal ellon, who sighed and nodded. “Alright. Arma would not be at ease in such a place, in any case.” He said, as he led the mare to the makeshift rail. 

“Crabathor, you will be coming with me. Bring Ilcar, we are going to buy the other assorted items we need. And a meal for the group, along with overnight lodgings for us and our animals. I am hoping to find some dogs, since the last ones died.” The Sindar ellon dipped his head, and attached the old stallion to the saddle of Rivorn, the stately mare he rode. 

Morivanyon silently stalked to his side. “Lissemo, you are to leave me overnight?””Yes, I know you are capable. If anyone comes by, just pretend to be a ghastly corpse or reanimated phantom.” Morivanyon dipped his head in acknowledgment, and sat down on the ground.   
“Alright” he said, gathering Histëala's reins in his hands “The rendezvous point is the gates of the city. After being reunited, we'll find the Curions, eat, and rest for the night. Understood?” A chorus of affirmation rose from the group. “Then let's go.” 

The group trotted down the beach. They noticed the torn blue cloak first, and then they saw a wisp of dirty, tangled hair before passing by. “What was that?” asked Panissë, her head twisting around. “Probably some homeless local.” replied Nixewen, with the group bobbing their heads in agreement. “We are here for supplies, Panissë, not an aid mission. They'll be gone by the time we come back, anyway.” Lissemo said with a sigh. She nodded reluctantly, continuing towards the city. Once at the gates, they divided and headed to were they needed to be. 

************

Narwamë and Panissë headed to the horse markets. There, they found rundown beasts that their hearts ached to see. They continued through the market, the horses getting flashier and more healthy as they went. They learned one of the more local breeds was a hardy type, and they looked at the numerous horses, called Sehras. They looked for hours, until they found a group of the hardy creatures they thought good for them.   
The seller told them in broken Westron that they were hard workers, saddle and pack broken. Narwamë picked a bay horse, to the seller's delight. He told them that she was a strong animal, and was a good dam too. Her name was Al-nari, which, according to the old man, meant fiery in the local tongue, to the elleth's amusement.   
Panissë was looking and found a spotted brown stallion and brought him over. The owner opened up his eyes in shock. Eventually, they learned this was because the currently docile animal was usually a storm trapped in a horse's body, his temper so bad it had earned him the name Al-shitan, or devil. He tried to persuade the pair, but the two of them insisted he was the one they wanted. 

He gave up, and started to bargain with them. They ended up trading one of the large jewels for the two horses, and the man was more than content with it. They also asked him what the word for storm was in the local tongue was, and he replied it was Al-asfeh, which the horse was promptly named.   
They went to a halter maker's next, and bought a tasseled halter for the the all the band's horses and mule, as a sort of souvenir. 

*********** 

Nixewen had found a smithy, who agreed to make the arrowheads. They would be done by tomorrow's sun-high, he had said. Another smith was fixing the dents and cracks on the old armor, and had promised they would be fixed at around the same time. Now, it was a simple matter of obtaining harnesses and packs for the two new horses they were buying.   
Haldamíron had found a place, and they went in. They found a woman sitting on the floor and sewing colorful saddle blankets. She looked up, her eyes widening as she took in the foreigners. She began talking quickly in the local language, until she realized they couldn't understand her. They gestured at each other until it became clear what they needed. Her head bobbed up and down, pointing out brightly colored halters and blankets. 

They looked at each other and murmuring. They decided to buy some woven blankets to keep them -Eldar and horses- warm at night. They left until they came across a tanner and bought enough leather to make the harnesses themselves. It wouldn't be for the first time, either. 

**************

Lissemo and Crabathor had checked off items on the list, and moved on to getting a little something for each member, and their horse. Crabathor bought his own things, a delicate pair of earrings for himself and a green and gold browband for Rivorn. Lissemo found a interesting sword, nothing like the two he currently owned, for himself, and a blue and silver browband for Histëala.

They found a large amount of a fruit called dates for the best cook of the band, Haldalóton, and a breastplate for Arossë with the local script for King engraved on it. A new green cloak and a pair of green and silver tassels to attach to a bridle went to Narwamë and Uru. A black headscarf with purple embroidery and a large comb went to Nullien and Hanaco. A necklace with a boat charm and blue and gold tassels were for Windyawen and Rehta. 

They decided to tease Nixewen a bit, and got an arm cuff with a fish engraved on it and a saddle blanket with the sun and moon embroidered on it for her stallion Elenya. They found a chunk of fragrant wood from far away for Panissë to carve and some more dates for her gluttonous stallion Varya. A ring and a gold and purple browband were for Haldamíron and Piucca.   
A sort of bread full of herbs was for Laiquemo, and new bags for Thinda's sake. A new set of needles and two matching coins with the script for 'endurance' and 'faith' were for Sangwon and Bronwe, and an apology gift in the form of a red trimmed black cloak for Morivanyon and a blue and silver browband for Arma. 

After the trip to the market, they found an empty inn. It was explained that a large group of foreign traders had just left, and that they had not yet had more customers arrive. After discussing a price, they had four rooms, stalls for their mounts and pack animals, a meal the next morning, and finally, a promise of kennel space for any dogs they bought. 

They left to find dogs, with the inn-keepers directions, and soon found them. There were dogs roaming the streets everywhere, and they took pity on a pair of puppies, picking the mutts up and heading to where the pure bred dogs were being sold. 

Two types caught their attention, one a strange, tall dog with silky coats, and the other a shaggy haired medium dog. They questioned the few who spoke in Westron, and learned that one was a sighthound, and the other a fearless guard dog. They settled on two of the former and one of the latter, bringing the dogs they now owned up to five. 

They went back to the inn to kennel the dogs, and question the inn-keepers about names. The kind woman helped them. She told them the words for luck and soot, Al-hadh and Sakham, which they named the mutt puppies. The lanky sighthounds were dubbed Al-hadwa and Al-dahabi, and the shaggy guard dog was named Al-bahr to please the Curion siblings.

After everything at the inn was in order, they went to acquire food for the group. They soon were surrounded by mouthwatering smells, and went from stall to stall looking for local cuisine. They grabbed thick red fruits called pomegranates and fuzzy orange fruits called peaches. They soon had plenty of lamb kebabs that dripped in grease, and lots of flat breads. The pair started heading down to the gates, ready to meet the others.

***************

Every one had gathered at the gates by the time Lissemo and Crabathor had arrived. “Lissemo!” called out Sangwon, waving his hand. The pair made their way over to every one. Narwamë showed off the two horses they had bought. “This one is Al-nari, and this one is Al-asfeh.” Panissë said with a smile. 

Laiquemo smirked, proudly explaining all the herbs he had bought and their uses, while Nullien fingered a bottle of poison that Laiquemo had let her buy for herself. “The armor and arrows will be done by noon tomorrow, Lissemo.” said Nixewen. “We'll have to make our own harnesses. I'm certain you noticed how...unusual the trappings here are.” Said Haldamíron calmly. Lissemo nodded. “It won't be the first time.” 

Sangwon talked about the fabrics he had bought, and their quality, as they made their way down to the seashore to find the half-Teleri siblings responsible for all things fish. They didn't give a second thought as they went down to were the siblings were drying fish in a secluded area, both stripped down to their leggings. “Is that food?” asked Windyawen, spinning on her heel and heading towards the group. “No, Windyawen, it is obviously rocks!” called Haldalóton as he ran past his sister. 

Once the two headed over to where the others had sat down, they calmly took some fruit, bread and a kebab each and started tearing in. The group eagerly talked about the day, speaking of the exotic culture and colors that were everywhere. After some confusion on how to eat the pomegranates, they dug in. Smiles were all around, and Lissemo leaned over and planted a kiss on his verno's cheek, who turned and blushed a little bit. 

Once they were done eating and talking, they helped Haldalóton and his sister with the fish, and started heading back to the inn they were to spend the night at. 

**************

After a peaceful night sleeping, the band had come to the main room of the inn for the morning meal. Groans from stretching and yawns filled the air before they sat down on the floor, and took the cups of milk offered to them. They found the taste strange, and Narwamë asked what it was, to be told that it was honeyed camels milk.

They found themselves with large chunks of bread and some more fruits in their hands, which they devoured quickly. They paid the owners, and went to the stables and kennels. Crabathor and Sangwon put rope leashes on the three adult dogs, and put the puppies in one of the tightly fastened saddle bags. They made their way to the courtyard, where Panissë had finishing tacking up Rivorn and Bronwe for the two ellyn.

Soon, the group had loaded everything onto the pack animals and the saddle bags on the saddles, and were walking through the city, headed to the smiths who were to be finished by now. Noon was upon them, and they had gathered the objects they had fixed and made.   
After this was accomplished, they moved towards the gate, trying not to trample anyone in the massive throng. Once they were out the gate, they got off of the main road, and headed towards the camp, and Morivanyon. Narwamë, Panissë, and the Curions took off, whooping and cheering as they made their way down the beach in a race. 

As they grew farther in the distance, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, to the confusion of the rest of the group. Lissemo and Laiquemo looked at each other, and tore off, with all but Sangwon and Crabathor, who had Ilcar, Fanya, and the dogs, following close behind. When they got to where the energetic members had stopped, Laiquemo pulled Thinda up short, and jumped out of his saddle to sit next to the prone form on the ground. “It's the same cloak..” trailed off Panissë. “Well” said Lissemo “It seems we will be helping your local yokel after all, Panissë.”


	3. Chapter Two- A Relic

They turned when they heard Laiquemo's sharp intake of breath. “This is no 'local yokel'. It's an ellon.” He said as he pulled aside long matted black hair, some of it with small braids and beads still in it, to reveal the delicately pointed ears. The group looked at each other in shock. “Nullien, get me my bags!” he ordered the elleth, who was startled out of her daze quickly. 

He started listing the ellon's injuries. “He is severely dehydrated, starving, burnt by the sun, and his hands are..” he held up his new patient's hands to display what he meant. Crabathor had caught up by this point, and stared at the destroyed, oozing flesh, which was charred in places. “I think I'm going to vomit, and I'm not an Edain so I really can't.” said Crabathor weakly, his tendency to babble when faced with disgusting situations showing. 

Laiquemo ignored all of what was going on, checking the mystery ellon for further damage. “He's completely unconscious, so he can't do anything to help me.” muttered the healer, after lifting the eyelids and seeing entirely unfocused eyes. He lowered his head down to the ellon's chest, listening to his breathing. “He's broken ribs before, his breathing is labored.” He continued his more thorough assessment , finding blistered feet, fever, and an ear infection. 

Shaking his head, he started digging through his small store of herbs and remedies. “Oh, Morgoth's black hands, we have to hurry back to the camp.” he hissed, starting to pick up the limp form of the shocking find of the band. “Well, isn't someone going to help me?” Lissemo and Haldalóton looked at each other, then helped pick up the unconscious ellon and put him on Thinda, on Laiquemo's orders. 

Laiquemo mounted behind him, before digging his heels in and sending her off at a flying pace. The others followed as quickly as possible, thundering down th beach.   
They roared into camp, shocking Morivanyon from his perch on a withered tree. “What is going on?” he intoned calmly, as he straightened his clothing and knocked the dust off. Laiquemo pushed past him, Nullien on his heels, as he made a dash to where he had left his larger stock of supplies. 

Morivanyon looked at Lissemo, puzzled, before his eyes lighted on the injured Eldar. His eyes widened, and he ran over to him, helping lower him down. “Where did you find him?” he whispered, shocked. “On the beach. He seems to have been lost for awhile.” Morivanyon sat down and put the ragged ellon's head into his lap, starting to finger comb his hair while humming soothingly. 

“Finally! What's left of the pine!” Laiquemo said, before gathering the rest of the necessary supplies and coming over to Morivanyon and the enigmatic ellon. He started giving orders snappily to Haldalóton and Nullien. “Haldalóton, get water boiling, and add the willow bark and pine needles, quickly! Nullien, get ready to help with these bandages.” He looked up and said “Lissemo, Sangwon, get those horses tied up.” before focusing on his task again.   
Him and Nullien flushed the wounds with salt water which caused the ellon to stir, a low moan coming from his throat. 

The ellon started to move, groaning as they continued pouring the painful but effective cleanser over the agonizing open wounds. His eyes flew open, and he started screaming in pain. Morivanyon, always trying to sooth the tempers or pain of the band, continued humming gentle songs and running his hands through the thrashing ellon's hair. 

After a few minutes, Haldalóton had brought the pine and willow-bark tea, and Laiquemo thanked him. “Now the fun part” he murmured “To get him to swallow this.” The ellon was gritting his teeth hard, whispering in Quenya frantically, and so broken by moans, screams, and fever that they couldn't comprehend him. 

Laiquemo pinched his nose shut and the other opened his mouth to breath. He poured as much as he dared into his mouth, and got Haldalóton to hold his jaw shut as he rubbed his throat. It worked, and the process was repeated until the last mouthful, when the dehydrated ellon fought through the pain and swallowed the tea himself.

He started with his fevered ranting once again. This time, they were able to pick out the saddening but not surprising words 'suicide','death', 'cursed', 'Silmaril', 'brothers','mine','fault','no' and 'deserved it'. 

They looked at each other. “Morivanyon, can you give him a sleep suggestion?” Nullien asked calmly. “Of course.” The ethereal being said, before sending him into a deep healing sleep. Morivanyon looked over, pain for the ellon written over his face. "Morivanyon, it was the right thing to do." Laiquemo said, putting his hand on the pale form of his friend. Nullien looked sickened, but was already pouring honey over the wounds and bandaging them tightly. 

Laiquemo sighed and shook his head. “He will be lucky to survive, even if the fever breaks. I was a combat medic, not a healer.” Morivanyon's eyes seemed to pierce his soul, as he asked “What's the difference?” Laiquemo's 'doe eyes' hardened to steel. “A healer heals people, a medic only makes them more comfortable as they die.” He said coolly, before helping Nullien carry the sleeping ellon to the nest of recently bought blankets made for him. 

*********************

Narwamë, Haldamíron, and Crabathor went to put away the recently acquired items and set up somewhere for the apparent new guest. They were joined by the rest of the group, and they talked among themselves about the enigma they found on the beach. 

“Who do you think it is?” Whispered Sangwon, as he started arranging blankets into a nest for their guest. “Void if I know, Sangwon” said Crabathor with a shrug. “Wintamo doesn't seem to be going to tell us any time soon.” Snorted Haldalóton. “Why” said Panissë “would you call him that?””What, He who fades? Because we have no idea what his real name is, and it's rather obvious he's going down the fading path.””Well, look who's optimistic.” Narwamë said with an eyeroll. 

After a bit of a discussion, they all conceded that one was a bit harsh, but then the screaming started. “Manwë's useless brain, he sounds like he's being tortured!” hissed Windyawen.   
“Maybe he was.” said Haldamíron with a flinch, as the slightly more optimistically dubbed Ranyar ranted in between screams. 

After it was all over with, Morivanyon appeared behind them, startling them. “Didn't we say we were going to get you a bell?” muttered Narwamë, spinning on her heel. The black pools just stared. “I do not understand, wouldn't that be declaring my presence in potentially dangerous situations?” he finally said. Lissemo came by, shaking his head. “They're joking, Morivanyon.””Ah.” was the only answer, before he calmly strode to Arma and started whispering to her. 

“We've been traveling with him for time uncountable, and I still don't understand him.” Haldalóton said , resigned confusion on his face. Laiquemo walked over to them, charred bits of old flesh stuck to his clothing. Crabathor grabbed a stick. “Don't come any closer.” he said, touching the tip of the stick to the other ellon's chest. 

Laiquemo had a tired look on his face, and batted the stick aside. “I have to get to my tent.” he said flatly, walking past him. “I don't enjoy being covered with this any more than you do!” He called over his shoulder, as he ducked under the tent flap. 

The camp settled down, and watches were set up. Soon, they slipped off to sleep, the next day fast approaching.


	4. Chapter 3- Pain

Most of the camp shot up, hearing the yelling outside. “No! No! Lissemo, I am trying my utmost best to help him! And he is nowhere near ready to travel, would you just listen to sense!””We have to move, Laiquemo, regardless of his fate! We are sitting ducks here in the open, in an unknown place! We go, even if we have to leave him!” The fight started heating up as the band watched transfixed. 

”I swore to Ixaliel that I would never leave another to die!””Ah yes, your adopted daughter and her deathbed whispers! Well, what about Yúliel, what about Wérenis, what about Ruscoquen, Ramo and Ravandon!? What about the human twins we found, Folcwine and Saehild?! And what of that Sindarin elfling, Ryndir? What of them, Laiquemo?!” Lissemo was panting, but then he realized what a low blow that was, his face forming an 'O' as he watched Laiquemo's stricken face morph into anger.

“No, mime hon, I'm sorry, I didn't-” Laiquemo cut the apology off, his frosty voice cutting the air. “You didn't what, Lissemo, you didn't what? Care? Think about what you were saying?” 

The band's eyes were wide open, they had heard the headstrong healer and the band's leader argue before, but not like this. “I deserved all of that” came the quiet voice “I forgot about the circumstances of those deaths. And I was insensitive, I didn't think, mime melin.” 

“You're right, you didn't. But I do accept your apology, Lissemo.” Laiquemo said, walking towards the tent where low moans emanated out. After a few moments of the air being thick enough to cut with a sword, Morivanyon broke the silence. 

“I believe that was what you would call an 'enormous mistake', Lissemo.” The leader flinched, but nodded in agreement, running his hand over the burn scarring on his face, an old habit. “And I believe” said Haldalóton and Windyawen in stereo “That's what's called being an idiot.” 

Nullien rolled her eyes, walking over to where Laiquemo was abusing his mortar and pestle, smashing herbs into a healing mixture. “Can you two please stop that?” asked Crabathor, his voice full of annoyance. “What, use osanwë with each other?” said Haldalóton. “Yes, it's very disconcerting.””We'll stop if you start cooking non-poisonous food.” The Sindar cringed, and muttered “Point taken.” before going to dig in their stores. 

“Well, I have good tidings and bad ones, which do you want?” Questioned Nullien as she walked up to Lissemo. “Good news, we all need it, I'm sure.” Haldamíron said. “Our guest's fever broke with the help of medication and a bit of energy from Morivanyon.” The group brightened. “That is good news.” Said Lissemo “But what's the bad?” Nullien looked him straight in the eye. “He's either a repeat of Crabathor, mute, or the poor ellon snapped, reversible or no.” 

The group made various noises, none of them very optimistic. “May I see him?” Lissemo finally said in response. “If you are content with seeing him stare at the side of the tent? Of course.” He shook his head at her, before ducking into the tent. 

Morivanyon was sitting inside, gently brushing out the mats and tangles of the gently swaying male, a few strips of wavy hair already hanging down. “He is not responsive?” He asked of the gossamer ellon. 

“No. He's suffering. You saw his injuries, did you not? You were burned, once” he said, gesturing at his forever scarred skin “So was he. You know his pain.”

”All too well, I'm afraid. How he is not making louder noises than those whimpers is beyond me.” He said softly, as he settled down in front of their puzzling guest. 

To the surprise of those there, the other's eyes focused on Lissemo. “You..” he whispered, a faint smile appearing “At least...some..lived.” He whispered, reaching up with a bandaged hand as if to touch the frozen leader's face, but drew it back quickly.

He returned to the gentle swaying, showing no sign of the break in his daze. “It's seems that our friend here was a Fëanorion follower once, and that he met or saw me at some point.” Lissemo said after a few moments of silence.

Laiquemo, who had entered at about the same time as that had occurred, knelt down and removed the bandages, cleaning the burns with a rag soaked in salt water and lavender. He reapplied the salves and treatments. “I don't know why, but the fact that he can respond is a good sign.” Lissemo nodded at the explanation, but had a question to ask. “Why is he not in pain?””Oh, he is. The nerve damage in his hand has made it unfeeling, but he has more things wrong then that. Since that is the worst thing, however” he continued “He is not in as much pain as you would think.”

“Not only that” said Nullien, from behind “It started healing up, long ago. Something happened to it after nearly healing to a scar to open it again, almost every time it got close to healed. The last time, it got severely infected””As she said.” Laiquemo stated, as he wrapped the wounds back up, and started treating the blisters on his feet. 

“Can you get Haldalóton to make something liquid for him? I can smell breakfast outside.” Morivanyon asked softly, half way done with his self-imposed detangling task. “Of course. Laiquemo?” He looked up, brows narrowed. “Some gruel, maybe a bit of broth mixed in, nothing more.” He replied before reaching up to clean Ranyar's ears.

***************

“How is Ranyar?” asked Panissë. The rest of the band had put down the thick cereal with eggs Windyawen had collected from seabird nests, wanting the answer as much as her. 

“It seems he was once a follower, like most of us. He once met or saw me, evidently. And Haldalóton, can you make some thin gruel or broth for him?””Of course, I'll get started.” Said the bulky cook, turning to his bag and digging through it. “That is not an answer, Lissemo.” Stated Crabathor. Lissemo shook his head. “Fine. He's swaying back and forth, can't feel the burn due to nerve damage but somehow can move his hand, and almost entirely unresponsive.”

“Then what do you mean by your first answer?” Narwamë queried. “He came out of daze to say 'You..At least some lived' and nearly touch my face before going back into whatever shell he's in.” The leader said, before taking the bowl Sangwon offered him.

“That is a good thing, correct?” Asked Haldamíron. “According to Laiquemo, yes.” He said before attacking his meal. Nullien stepped out, collecting her own bowl. “I'm never getting the smell of charred flesh mixed with pus out of my mind.” She groaned, sticking her nose in the bowl and inhaling the scent. 

Crabathor eyed her and scooted farther down the rock he was sitting on. Arossë calmly strode over and stood stock still, before moving a little closer to his soon-to-be victim Crabathor, then moving again. “I can hear you, you know.” Crabathor said to the horse, who snorted and moved to the other side in a huff. 

“Why do you keep him, Haldalóton? He's more trouble than he's worth.” Said Nixewen. “Because he's not, for one reason. For another, he is incredibly intelligent, which has been a great deal of help in past situations.” The cook said, pouring the small liquid meal into a bowl, and placed a spoon in it. “Now, who's taking this to Laiquemo and Ranyar?”

The group looked around at each other, before Windyawen rolled her eyes and took it from her brother, striding purposely over to the 'sick tent' while mumbling about 'being around dead fish for hours, this couldn't be too much worse, Eru.'

“She has no idea.” muttered Nullien into her breakfast, the comment causing Narwamë to snigger as the rest of the group nodded.


	5. Chapter 4-Rebraiding

“Here's breakfast for our Mystery Ellon, Laiquemo. And you too, as well as you Morivanyon, we can't have our healer and negotiator starve to death, it would end badly.” Announced Windyawen as she ducked into the tent. She started gagging when she took in a lungful of air, but kept her composure otherwise. 

“Thank you, now hand it to me please.” said the healer, still slathing salves and applying anointments and lotions to the skin. She handed over both bowls. Laiquemo set his down, and started to spoon feed Ranyar, who's body was so close to starvation that it drank the liquid meal and fresh water without his conscious aid.

She turned her attention to Morivanyon, who had set aside his bead sorting long enough to eat. She eyed the large pile of beaten up beads, in blue and gold and red, two Fëanorion stars obviously meant to serve as decorative rather than practical, although the same could be said of all of them. 

“You fished all of those out of that rat's nest? Which actually looks nice now, good job.” She asked. He swallowed his mouthful. “Yes. I would guess he had some connection to the Teleri, for he is a Noldor, but I found remnants of their style of braids in the..'rat's nest'.” He replied placidly. 

She nodded. “Atar had his hair in those braids. I always loved playing with them and their beads.” Morivanyon smiled, before returning to his meal. After a conversation with Laiquemo about the medicines he was using, Morivanyon was done eating.

“Do you or your brother know how to redo them? I could try, but it would likely go faster and look better with more hands.” The spiritlike ellon asked, tipping his head to the side like a pleading dog. “Of course we do. Atto taught us, and if he thought we forgot he would have descended from the sky on one of Manwë's eagles by now.” She snorted. 

“Then help, please.””Alright, let me go get something to tie up all the braids.” She got up and went to dig through her bags, looking for the little beads she had bought in the city, at the time for nostalgia, but now she realized it was more like a random piece of foresense. 

They were silver and blue, and would look striking in his hair. She took out the many, many tiny black dyed cords of twine, which she had kept after Nendion had shyly asked for her to help him with his hair, and they had formed a long friendship, hard to keep when he stayed in Valinor and she left for Aman. 

After the brief moment of sentimentality, she shook her head violently and left the tent. “Has anyone seen my brother? He needs to help me with Ranyar's hair.” Nixewen looked up. “He was finishing with those fish you caught yesterday. He's down by the shore.” Windyawen nodded her head at the scrappy smith, before heading down to the sea.

*****************

“Haldalóton, I need your assistance.””With what, my dear sister?” He said, looking up from the salting. “With braiding our guest's hair.” He stared at her. “Isn't that something that Morivanyon can handle?””Not when our guest apparently favors Teleri braids, and we are the only ones who have a real idea of how to do them.”

“....What. He's not Teleri.””And neither is ammë, but that didn't stop atto from putting them in her hair.””True. He must-””Have some connection to the Teleri, like his bonded or a friend, yes.” He sighed, and hauled himself up. They started walking back. 

“Prepare yourself, hanno, for the worst stench in your life. Rotten fish, week-old battlefields and orcs do not reek this much. You will gag, and wish you were an Edain so you could retch.””Very reassuring, nésa. It can't be quite that bad.” he replied. “Come on, those fish won't salt themselves, so we need to hurry up with this.” He jogged off in the direction of the sick-tent. “Don't say I didn't warn you, hanno.” she muttered under her breath.

****************

“I did warn him Laiquemo, I swear.” Windyawen said, the glare of the thoroughly annoyed Eldar fixing her. “I now have two patients to deal with. How, exactly, did you 'warn' him?” He said his glare staying put, the stress lines in between his brows becoming more prominent by the minute. 

“I told him that rotten fish, week-old battlefields, and orcs don't make this kind of stench. He told me 'It can't be quite that bad' and trotted his way over here.” She said, meeting the medic's Glare of Death. The stressed ellon groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Fine. It doesn't change that your idiotic and apparently deaf brother is vomiting like I've never seen an Eldar vomit. Honestly, even when my charges have been weakened to the point of the Edain, it has never been this bad.” He hissed, then added “I have rarely seen Edain that vomited like this.”

“Well, then I suggest that you deal with him, and Windyawen helps me with Ranyar. If necessary, we can call for Nullien. Ranyar is, as I understand, treated, Laiquemo?” Morivanyon asked from where he still was running his fingers through the wavy hair of the weaving ellon. A moment of hesitation, and then a sigh. “Yes, yes, he is. Now, let me deal with Haldalóton, would you?” Nods of affirmation went around, and then the former combat medic started on his job, muttering all the while about the nasty phenomena on the floor he had to deal with.

Windyawen was gagging, the combined smells of charred, rotting flesh and sick getting to be way to much for her to handle. “Look at it this way” Morivanyon said, looking up “He will listen to you from now on.””If Eru wills it.” She muttered through clenched teeth. Then she started on the braids. After a few minutes of the relative quiet, she finally realized something. “Morivanyon, can't you smell this Morgoth-devised stench?”

He stared blankly at her. “I don't think I've been able to smell since Crabathor attempted to make food.”  
She stared back. “Did you just make a joke?””I did not think I did. Now, I realize, that his attempts were off-putting enough to induce sense loss.” He dipped his head and returned to his job, nimble fingers twisting, leaving Windyawen more confused then she was to begin with.

****************

After two hours, they sat on the floor, finishing the last few braids. They had been beaded and tied off, and finally, were done. Windyawen nodded, casting a critical eye on her and Morivanyon's work. “These turned out better than expected.” She said. He slowly blinked. “I think you got better as we went, Morivanyon.” She said in praise off her student. 

He nodded. “Thank you.” before he got up, and sat in front of Ranyar. “You know” he said quietly “I could swear I have seen him before.” She looked back at him from where she had been about to leave the tent, and check on her brother, who had been given a tonic and thrown out by Laiquemo.

“Yes. His face...” he trailed off, staring hard at him “I did not see Feänor's sons well enough to truly remember. Only a few short times.” That got her to spin on her heel, and to get Laiquemo's head to snap up from where he was scrubbing clean his boots. “You think he is a-” Windyawen halted.

Nullien raised an eyebrow, before shaking her head. “Impossible. You don't think any of them survived. They brought their fate upon themselves.””Right” said Windyawen “And because you were born into the camps early on and had no choice, you are so pure and perfect.” Laiquemo lept up, and shoved them apart before it could get really ugly. 

“You have had this argument before, and will not have it again. We all served under Feänor, a Fëanorion, or one of the Fingolfions. With the exception of Crabathor, we all did. This does not make any of us better than the other. Now, get out of the tent. I have enough to deal with as it is.” The ellith huffed a bit, but left, not wanting to face even more of the ellon's wrath.

Laiquemo turned to Morivanyon. “Do you truly think that?””We may never know for sure. It is merely speculation on my part.” The former medic shook his head at the unclear answer, and went back to cleaning the sick-covered items.


	6. Character Sheets!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little busy right now, and have hit a little bit of writer's block with the next chapter, so here are the character sheets instead!

1\. Name;Crabathor (Raven Brother)Theriedirion m  
Appearance; a lithe, black-haired Sindarin ellon with very pale skin and icy blue eyes.   
Better traits;He is very reliable, charming, mature (He had to grow up fast) and willing to adapt.   
Worse traits; He is highly assertive at times, secretive, and occasionally detached from the world around him. Also, easily grossed out.  
Clothing choices; he wears woodsy, muted colors with a simple set of wooden earrings that once belonged to his sister.  
Weapon of choice; Hunting bow and arrows, will use a spear and use it well.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; two small scars, one on his right thigh and one on his right shoulder. Both are from incidents he will never live up. The one on his thigh because of a mistake in firing his bow, and the other from when he was thrown from a horse. No tattoos. No birthmarks. Multiple piercings in his ears.  
Skills; the best hunter and the best at woodcraft, not bad at singing.   
Not-skills; the entire band has told him that they rather eat mud, worms, and their boots then eat his cooking.  
Horse; a calm, fast spotted mare with a black splotch on the top of her head, earning her name, Rivorn. (Black Crown.)

 

2\. Name; Haldalóton (Rising Flower) Curion. m  
Appearance; a tall and muscular half-Noldor/half-Teleri ellon with gray eyes, tanned skin and wavy, platinum blonde hair.  
Better traits; Reassuring, enthusiastic, and humorous.   
Worse traits; He can't say no but can be outspoken, and a little bit of an elitist.  
Clothing choices; He favors practical clothing in dark, oceanic colors.  
Weapon of choice; A pike.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; A gash facing left across his face and joining more long scars across his shoulders and chest from being caught in a orc trap. A tattoo of waves on the center of his forehead, the tips of ears are tattooed blue, and tribal blue lines on his chin. No birthmarks. Ear piercings.  
Skills; a talented fisher, pikeman, and cook.  
Not-skills; hunting.  
Horse; a temperamental liver chestnut stallion named affectionately named Arossë (Royal Terror)

 

3\. Name; Narwamë (Fiery Head) Lustamuiniel. f  
Appearance; a muscular Noldor elleth with dark tan skin, evergreen eyes, and dark auburn hair.  
Better traits; laid-back, smart, and she has an unreadable poker face.  
Worse traits; impulsive, self-critical, and she is a bit of a drunk  
Clothing choices; She lives in her armor, and has a penchant for cloaks.  
Weapon of choice; Sword, especially the longsword  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Two missing toes, both the pinkie toes, and one of her ears was torn off. She lost her toes due to an infection, and her ear was torn off in a vicious, spiked vine. No tattoos. A large darker splotch on her back. A nose piercing.  
Skills; An actress, a gifted swords-woman, and horsewoman.  
Not-skills; Valar help anyone who let's her near a forge or plants.   
Horse; a small, fast mare named Uru. (Copper)

 

4\. Name; Nullien (Dark/Dusky) Arhestiel . f  
Appearance; a tall, thin Noldor elleth with tan skin, freckles, black hair and steel blue eyes.  
Better traits; Honorable, polite and resilient.  
Worse traits; Superstitious, quick to accuse, along with a strange (For a Noldor) holier-than-thou attitude.  
Clothing choices; Murky, respectable clothes, and she likes head scarves  
Weapon of choice; Poison darts, she was a sniper of sorts. She also can use a sword very well.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Extensive non-severe burn scarring on her back, from an accident when she was an elfling. No tattoos. No birthmarks. No piercings.  
Skills; Sewing and hand-to-hand combat  
Not-skills; Anything to do with birds (It's a long story that involves chickens and an eagle)  
Horse; a huge, light brown stallion named Hanaco (Giant)

 

5\. Name; Windyawen (Pale Blue Maiden) Curion. F  
Appearance; a tall, muscular half-Noldor/half-Teleri elleth, who takes after her Teleri father more than her Noldor mother, even more than her younger brother. She has rather dark skin, pale blue eyes, and platinum blonde hair that's as straight as a line.   
Better traits; loyal, content, fun-loving with looser morals, but not quite as friendly as her brother.  
Worse traits; clingy, insensitive, and hates not having a routine.   
Clothing choices; She wears anything comfortable and practical.  
Weapon of choice; great with spears and lances, but her real talent -and heart- lies with the harpoon.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Two cuts on her left and right cheek, which she got by choice. Her ears are also tattooed blue, with tribal designs on her upper arms. No birthmarks. Multiple ear piercings.  
Skills; fishing, agriculture, telling stories.   
Not-skills; Cannot act to save her life. Consequentially, she can't tell convincing lies.  
Horse; a gentle, calm silver dapple mare named Rehta (To save/rescue)

 

6\. Name; 'Findele' (Nickname-long hair.) Nixewen (Frost Maiden) Hyelliel. F  
Appearance; A Noldor elleth who is shorter than the rest of the group, but powerfully built. Black hair chopped short, deep violet eyes and tan skin.   
Better traits; Accepting, relaxed and mature  
Worse traits; incredibly cynical, although this view is been beneficial at times.   
Clothing choices; She's partial to earth tones, and has her gloves and apron packed safely away.  
Weapon of choice; A mace or morning-star, isn't bad with a sword.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; No scars. No tattoos. No birthmarks. Multiple ear piercings.  
Skills; A skilled smith, but is not great at anything but basic items and weapons.  
Not-skills; Fishing. For the love of all that is good, keep her away! - The Curions.  
Horse; a buckskin stallion named Elenya (Celestial)

 

7\. Name; Panissë (Woman who carves wood) Mastarion. f  
Appearance; Curly brunette hair, tall, green eyes and rather light skin for a Noldor elleth.  
Better traits; Sincere, loving, with a soft spot for animals and children.  
Worse traits; Reckless and occasionally uncooperative.   
Clothing choices; Practical clothing in wintery colors, loves scarves.   
Weapon of choice; A longbow and arrows.  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; A small scar from a run in with orcs on her hand. A tattoo of the name 'Tantanis' proceeded by the words 'Mime melda' on her left shoulder. No birthmarks. No piercings.   
Skills; A horsewoman, making carvings, and baking.   
Not-skills; Being in a position of leadership.  
Horse; a large, fast stallion named Varya (To protect)

 

8\. Name; Haldamíron (Hidden Jewel) Palúrion. m  
Appearance; Shorter and lithe, black hair, gray eyes and lightly tanned skin, feminine looking.   
Better traits; Flexible, complacent and strategic intelligence  
Worse traits; Overcritical and easily bored  
Clothing choices; Loose clothing in dark colors  
Weapon of choice; Bow and arrows  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Blind right eye from the scar running across it. No tattoos. No birthmarks. Ear piercings.  
Skills; Sewing, singing and good with maps and horses  
Not-skills; Learning and speaking other languages.  
Horse; a stubborn chestnut mare named Piucca (Blackberry)

 

9\. Name; Laiquemo (Healer. Literal; Man who does herbs) Nyelion. m  
Appearance; A sassy ellon with light skin, large brown eyes, and very, very dark auburn hair. Even he's not certain if he's entirely Noldor. All he knows is that he was conceived during the Journey.   
Better traits; Honorable, a realist, and doesn't take crap from anyone  
Worse traits; Argumentative with a short temper  
Clothing choices; Longer clothing in light colors  
Weapon of choice; A sword  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Burn scarring on his left shoulder, a small scar on his chin. A tattoo of a Fëanorion star on his right hip that he covers up. No birthmarks. No piercings.   
Skills; An extremely talented healer, with a knack for learning and speaking other languages.   
Not-skills; Can't really tell north from south, has no singing voice  
Horse; a strong mare dappled mare named Thinda. (Gray.)

 

10\. Name; Lissemo (Man who is sweet) Caimion. m  
Appearance; A tall, muscular Noldor ellon with long black hair, blue eyesmand tan skin.  
Better traits; Cunning, motivated and informative  
Worse traits; A bit of a know-it-all  
Clothing choices; Lives in his armor, likes bright colors but doesn't wear them.   
Weapon of choice; A sword or a war hammer  
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Extensive burn scarring on his face, back and torso from attempting to fight a balrog (Was young, was stupid). No tattoos. No birthmarks. No piercings.   
Skills; A talented story-teller, smith, and the 'resident' rogue charmer.   
Not-skills; Carving wood.   
Horse; an intelligent large stallion with a sorrel coat and a white sock named Histëala (Mist Spirit)

 

11\. Name; Morivanyon (Dark Beauty) Tingilindion. m  
Appearance; Black hair, black eyes, and pale skin, this half-Noldor is ethereal, and the band uses that. (Again, Journey. At least he knows he isn't fully Noldor.)  
Better traits; Easy-going, rational and typically gentle.  
Worse traits; Reluctant and occasionally detached.  
Clothing choices; Practical clothing in reds and blacks.   
Weapon of choice; A bow, or a spear.   
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; No scars. No tattoos. No birthmarks. No piercings.   
Skills; Everyone is certain that he is not an Eldar and that he is either dead or part Maia, talent for negotiations, has a silver tongue and a horseman.   
Not-skills; Do Not let him repair clothing. Ever. Or leather. Or anything that needs a needle.   
Horse; A feisty golden palomino mare with a white star named Arma (Ray of Sunlight)

 

12\. Name; Sangwon (Poison) Tironion  
Appearance; Red hair, gray-blue eyes and dark tan skin, the youngest of the band is a shorter Noldor ellon, who was weakened by illness as an elfling and never fully recovered.   
Better traits; Doesn't complain due to living in the war camps for most of his life and enthusiastic.   
Worse traits; Apprehensive. Him not complaining can also be taken to an extreme. Once, he had a large spine from a plant stuck in his foot for two days, and only when he passed out did they realize it was there.  
Clothing choices; Whatever he can wear. He does like woodsy colors a lot.  
Weapon of choice; A bow, but likes using a pike as well. (Haldalóton is very proud of his protege.)   
Scars/tattoos/birthmarks/piercings; Long scars across his back from an orc trap. No tattoos. One of his eyes has lots of steel blue in it. Multiple ear piercings.   
Skills; Hunting, scavenging, and sewing.  
Not-skills; Agricultural or smithing work.   
Horse; A small and hardy mahogany bay mare. Sangwon couldn't come up with a name, so Crabathor named her Bronwe (Endurance/Faith)

 

Pack horses/mules;  
Ilcar (Silver), a flea-bitten stallion.  
Fanya (Cloud), a white molly mule.   
Al-nari (Fiery), a bay mare.  
Al-asfeh (Storm), a brown tobiano stallion.

Dogs;  
Al-hadh (Luck), a black female dog.  
Sakham (Soot), a gray female dog.  
Al-hadwa (Calm), a tan and black female dog.  
Al-dahabi (Golden), a tan male dog.  
Al-bahr (Sea) a white and brown female dog.

There are more to come, such as the people Lissemo used a really low blow against Laiquemo, parents of people, old friends, etc, but these are just the most important charecters (The main OC's, specifically).


	7. Time

Nearly a week passed, Lissemo getting more and more on edge every day. Laiquemo had finally deemed Ranyar suitable for travel, and they were constructing a type of sled to fix to old Ilcar, the pack horse. 

Packs were loaded, food stored, horses rubbed down and tacked up. They spoke to Ranyar, who still didn't respond, but had stopped weaving, and seemed to have semi-awareness of his surroundings. He had made marginal progress, moving his hands and eating with aid. The burns were nasty, and would have permanent effects on him, but were no longer infected and seeping pus. 

Crabathor and Sangwon calmly spoke with each other, with Morivanyon hovering in the background of the hubbub, mounted on Arma and making random, occasional comments to the two, and the rest of the group. Nixewen muttered to herself about her smithing tools being hard to maintain on the road, a discussion she always had with herself, which the group was long used to.

Lissemo looked around, assessing the situation mentally, an acquired skill that he had developed in service to Kanafinwë but had honed in his years as the leader of the band. He saw everything had been dismantled and packed. He saw that there were still a few things lying on the ground, but Haldalóton and Windyawen swooped down on the objects that he was unable to identify and packed them away safely.

He sighed, and looked at Narwamë. She nodded at him. He looked about, eyes looking out far to sea. He tried to memorize the image in his mind, the sight, the smell, the sounds, as there was little chance they should ever come back. That, and the other problem.

Laiquemo had told him last night, whispered in his ear, that Ranyar's constantly reopened hands were an act of self-mutilation. “He doesn't attempt to do this now?””No, but if he did I would try to stop him. Maybe.””What do you mean, dear one?””I believe the only reason he has not faded yet is a desire to punish himself for whatever it was he did.”

Lissemo shook his head. He trusted his mate's judgements. He needed not dwell on them. But the more he thought, the more of a sick feeling he got in the pit of his stomach. What had Ranyar done that was so horrible he felt such a need? After all, the Feänorion stars he wore marked him as one of them, once upon a time. They had likely done all the same things he had.   
Lissemo ignored the voice in the back of his mind, the one that whispered about other reasons, about how guilty and disgusting he had felt when he had first realized his desire towards other men, about how he had beat himself over falling for Laiquemo, and about how not all of the cuts in those first few weeks of the band's running were inflicted by stinging plants. Or perhaps he merely feared the void, and his own doom.

He clenched his teeth, and shook his head again.He set his mind to the road ahead. He heard snippets of a conversation between Crabathor and Sangwon. "Why did we start using the Sindarin names for them, again?""I think it's because I always called them by those names, and you all obliged me. After forty or so years, I think you just stopped using the Quenya.""Oh, I remember now. Yes, that's what happened." Lissemo realized that this was something they had all started doing, and he had never questioned it.

This led him down another path of thinking, which he followed as they set off, rather than dwelling on his former line of thought.   
*********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this being late and short, I lost my writing mojo and was really busy.


	8. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIVVEEE!!! (take more words, here, take them, you've been waiting long enough)

After a slow, careful month, Ranyar was in fairly intense pain, but he was conscious, and aware. He had not spoken to another being for so, so long that his voice cracked and broke over and over, he forgot words frequently, and the languages had drifted a bit over time, but Laiquemo was ecstatic over his patient's progress, since he had gone from a weaving, silent, unaware near-dead creature, to a ellon whose eyes followed movement, who tried to speak to those around him, and tried to eat without aid, despite needing it still, and he did these things even through teeth that were always clenched and the groans and whimpers escaped his lips constantly.

Lissemo admitted that Laiquemo was right in helping what he thought was a completely hopeless case, and the rest of the band was shocked as well, but they helped with as much as they could, feeding him and talking with him and trying to help him remember. 

On this night, how ever, Ranyar had a request. "Your stories" he said quickly "tell me them." The band looked around at each other, and shrugged. Crabathor looked at him. "Ranyar, our stories aren't very complicated, but alright. I was born and raised in Doriath, alongside my younger sister. We lived normally, becoming border guards when we came of age, and we were assigned to a far reach with the rest of our group. When the sacking of Doriath came, we were too far away to come back quickly, and then the Fëanorions raided, and when the Girdle fell, we ran for our lives from Morgoth's foul beasts and wicked men and all the horrors that lay beyond our borders." The rest of them had heard this story before a few times, so they listened in complete silence, and Ranyar listened in with gritted teeth, attentive as possible. 

Crabathor took a deep breath. "Through the course of a few years, one by one, they died. Fallen to disease, to foul creatures, to exhaustion, and half of them we lost during a great cataclysm." He looked at Ranyar, and his breath shook as he said the next sentence. "My sister was among the ones who was killed during this...breaking of the world. She was on a piece of rock...it fell towards the water--I--I held on, but I could not save her. She fell to the water, and to her death. The band found me, the sole survivor, delirious with fever, much later. And that is my story, Ranyar." 

Ranyar looked at his heavily bandaged hands. "I wish I knew of my own past to share." He hissed and bit his tongue and continued on "I would speak of it if I..re-remem--remember..yes, that one..if I remembered any of it." Laiquemo shared a look with Lissemo, and then turned to Ranyar. "Ranyar, you need not worry." Laiquemo said, shaking his head. Some members of the group declined, but the Curions did tell.

"We were born in Alqualondë, but our family left for Tirion soon after. Eventually, Fëanor led the burning of boats." Said Windyawen. Ranyar looked hard at her. "So...your kin...?" He asked, slowly. The siblings snickered a bit. "Ammë loathes the smell of fish with her entire being-" said Windyawen. "And Atto is so head over heels with her that he thinks she is the root of everything good." Finished Haldalóton, smiling at his sister. "It is worth noting" he added "that we had no family there."

Ranyar made a noise of acknowledgment before directing his attention at Laiquemo and Lissemo. "And you two?" Laiquemo shrugged. "I became a combat medic after an unfortunate turn of events, and served under Maglor, or Kanafinwë, Fëanorion. After a disastrous battle, we fled for our lives. All of us. We traveled for years uncounted, wandering further and further south--and to the east for some time--before we found you on the shoreline near a trading city. Always avoiding elven kingdoms; always avoiding fate." The healer intoned, with the ease of one who has told this story many times before, his voice softening on the last two sentences. 

Lissemo stayed silent, whetting his sword where he sat. Laiquemo cleared his throat in his direction, but Lissemo only looked up with a raised eyebrow, before returning to the task he'd taken on. Laiquemo huffed, before turning to Ranyar. "I'm sorry for him, he'll tell you eventually." Ranyar nodded in response, and leaned back into Morivanyon's hands, where he was carefully kneading his back. 

Morivanyon stopped his movements for a moment, and then continued the picture of the band's past with his story. "I traveled the Helcaraxë with Fingolfin's company. In the confusion that came with moving camps, after a period of icy relations between the two groups, I ended up with the Fëanorions. Nobody noticed, but I have always been in the background of everything. I served under Kanafinwë as well." Ranyar moved away a bit and looked back at him. "The Helcaraxë? Ai, you have been through much. All of you." 

Nixewen raised her eyebrow. "As you haven't?" He looked down at his tightly bandaged hands, than nodded his head slightly. "I have as well, but that does not detract from the point." She and a few others chuckled a bit. 

After an extended period of comfortable silence save for the noises of the horses and the crackling fire, Ranyar asked another question. "Where is our destination? You seem to have...a purpose...a goal...a planned...a goal. You seem to have a goal in mind." Laiquemo and the rest turned to Lissemo to answer. He lifted his head, meeting Ranyar's gaze. "We are leaving for one of the elvish cities. We need a better healer for you, and enough time has passed, perhaps we shall be forgiven." 

He didn't return to whetting his sword, he instead leaned down and picked up Sakham, one of the puppies they had taken on, and pet her gently as she yawned sleepily. The band was silent as they mulled over the answer they had been given.

After a while, watches were assigned and those not on the current rotation settled down to sleep, plans, ideas, opinions, and fanciful thoughts flitting through their minds.


	9. Skipping Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *weakly raises hand* I'm not dead. It's been a month, and I don't have much, but here, words.

They had made it out of the Haradwäith. Months of long, grueling, hot travels passed behind them, as they headed towards the sound of water, roaring in a great rushing river. The journey had been hard. Ilcar had died, leaving them with one less packhorse, and Al-Bahr had been severely injured yet had survived while protecting the band from one of the many groups of wandering thieves.

The camp had been set up with minimal occurrences. They all looked forward to sleep, even before food and bathing, the many days of riding catching up more than ever, relief crashing down on them. And so they went to their tents to rest, switching watches as the day proceeded. And if anyone wept at this, no one told another. 

 

***************

 

After a few hours, Nixewen went to wake everyone up, and she noticed that Ranyar was gone. She immediately got the rest of those she hadn't already awoken and they started looking, worried he had wandering off for some unknown reason.

After a while, thry found him. Ranyar stood at the edge of the water looking down, down, down into the depths. He ran a heavily scarred hand through it. He smiled, than laughed brightly, turning to look at his hungry, dirty friends and protectors.

"Isn't it wonderful? Water, water, and so much of it!" He laughed again, than sat on the bank, just watching for awhile, breathing deeply. They all let out a collectively held breath, than sat beside him. The peace didn't last long however, as Haldalóton snuck up behind Windyawen and shoved her in. 

She squeaked as she fell in, then she resurfaced and dragged her brother in, the two quickly competing to see how long one could hold the other under. The two playing around shook the others into following, water splashing as they enjoyed the shallow area, playing and bathing as the sun sunk lower. 

Eventually they wore themselves out, and they had already been hungry since before they slept the morning away, so they made their way back to camp, wet clothes, hair, and bodies dripping. It was evening, and they got a fire going, roasting fish caught earlier when the Curions had done what they could in the morning, which they had moved to a dark area in buckets filled with wet moss to keep cool and fresh. 

Lissemo paced, muttering to himself and occasionally Haldamíron, as he formulated a plan for the next day. But for now, they mostly relaxed, still keeping up a guard, but they allowed some of their worries to melt away.

The now-nightly ritual of Morivanyon rubbing Ranyar's shoulders, and those of anyone who asked, was going on in the background, Windyawen looking over the braids, proud of how well Morivanyon learned and how well his work kept. Laiquemo kept his eye on less on Ranyar now, and more on Narwamë, who had sprained her wrist a week ago after being thrown from Uru, the feisty mare spooked by seemingly nothing.

Sangwon worked on clothing repairs, and Crabathor looked out at the greens of the land, humming an old Doriathian folk tune, appreciating this river's bright banks and the areas around it much more than the gradual transition to here, although he had been no less grateful at the first sight of a color other than sand and sky in weeks. 

Panissë worked on a small carving, occupying her hands, as Nullien leaned back and closed one eye, tired as the rest of them. After another hour, watches were divided up, and those not on first watch headed to bed, preparing for the days of planning and preparing ahead.


End file.
